


Picture-Taking Doodads

by profoundalpacakitten



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Banter, Because They Try To Communicate Using The Language Of Dumbassery, Blow Jobs, Bottom Steve Rogers, Dick Pics, Dumbasses In Their Natural Habitat, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Foreplay, Hair Pulling, Humor, M/M, Manhandling, Misunderstandings, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Sixty-Thousand Years Of Foreplay, Slight Dangling, The Leftist In Steve Is Everywhere, Top Bucky Barnes, accidental dick pics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25152922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profoundalpacakitten/pseuds/profoundalpacakitten
Summary: None of this would have happened if Steve actually took care of his shit.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 62
Kudos: 305
Collections: Smut Writing 101: Accidental Dick Pics and Nudes





	Picture-Taking Doodads

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry in the "Accidental Dick Pic" Stucky collection, a collection I am honored to be part of. This ridiculous piece of _something_ would never have seen the light of day had it not been for the NASBB server and the fantastic cheering we have there.
> 
> Thanks to [jehans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehans/profile) for initiating an imptomptu "How to write smut" thing that devolved into the multiple crazy discussionswe all had and ultimately that "theme". You rock <3
> 
> Also the biggest of thanks to my beta [Hark Bananas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hark_bananas/profile) who really is a savior and has put all my commas in their rightful place and has prevented such terrible things as "how do you say when you have your hand and you put the thumb on the cheekbone and you know that thing that happens in romance books, not the slap, the söfte" from happening instead of a simple "he stroked his cheek"
> 
> Bananas, you are bananas _fingerguns_.

None of this would have happened if Steve actually took care of his shit. In a move so Steve it could have worn its own little cowl of spite, Steve had decided that since people took him for technologically inept, he would stay technologically inept.

As such, he had a habit of losing his phone, mistaking it for Bucky’s or Clint’s, letting it fall from varying heights, drowning it in liquids, and misusing apps while loudly exclaiming, “Golly gee, what a thingamajiggy” in Tony’s proximity.

So, when he got back from the gym on that fateful day and changed in his room using the efficient and time-honored technique of flinging his clothes every which way, his phone fell onto the floor. When he picked it up, he saw that it had opened to the camera app, or “the picture-taking doodad” if Tony happened to be around. He shrugged, turned off the screen, and dropped the phone onto his bed before walking over to the bathroom in the buff.

Meh. SmArTpHoNeS.

[---**-**---]

On the contrary, Bucky took care of his shit. He had cleaned up good before the war, had been scrupulous to the point of being fussy, and the serum and all that Winter Soldier stuff had only amplified his tendencies to have stuff be _Just So_.

Call it being the cosmic opposite of Steve’s entropy field.

However, Bucky was now used to Steve confusing both their phones and forgetting whichever phone he’d used last in the most random of places.

So when he found a phone in the fridge next to the milk carton, he absent-mindedly thumbed it open and was satisfied to find that it was _his_ phone – he’d been searching for it the whole morning and had had to use Steve’s to text Natasha about a sparring sesh.

Here he was now, trying to juggle his training gear, the milk, and his phone and closing the fridge door. At some point, he managed to get everything settled and started poking around, trying to find what Steve had been doing with the phone.

He took a drink of milk straight from the carton and looked down at the screen, then spluttered his mouthful of milk all over the kitchen.

He had opened the camera app to check it and the last picture taken was… It…

It was… a whole. A whole thing.

Bucky cocked his head slightly to the right, mirroring the penis, hanging a little to the left, staring him in the face on the phone screen.

The picture was kind of weird, a low-angle shot of legs tangled in boxer shorts and, at the very top, well in view of Bucky’s unsuspecting, — innocent – _ahem_ – eyes, a glans, peeking out of the hood of a very nice shaft.

Bucky squinted and then zoomed in on the dick.

It really was a nice dick.

A nice…

Wait.

…

Bucky threw the phone down on the kitchen counter like it had burned him. “Oh my GOD!”

This was Steve’s dick!! It couldn’t be another’s dick! It even hung left like the leftist Steve fucking was, oh holy shit! This was an honest-to-god picture of his best friend’s penis! A rod of male…

Bucky made a sound reminiscent of a cat being submerged in water and dashed out of the room.

[---**-**---]

Bucky spent the next hour orbiting his phone like the weirdest comet in the solar system, every rotation bringing him closer to the offending piece of technology.

It went like this: Bucky would come out of his hiding spot, armed to the teeth, and sure he was absolutely not, in any way, either fascinated or interested in the details of this dick which very much belonged to Steve. He would then proceed to approach the phone in a roundabout way, picking up stuff, tidying up as an excuse, like that way, the phone wouldn’t be able to guess his ulterior motives.

Then as he came ever closer, he would begin to hear the shrieking alarm blaring in his mind, the one he always heard when Steve stripped his shirt off in Bucky’s vicinity. The “tactical evasion maneuver engaged” alarm.

Then his mind would fill with static and send him back into hiding.

To cope.

At some point, during the fourth or fifth orbit around the stupid phone, Bucky finally got the guts to turn the screen on again and stare some more at the picture.

It really was a nice dick.

Fucking Steve and his perfect fucking everything.

“Damn,” he said to no one in particular.

[---**-**---]

How much time can one spend pondering the secrets of life and the universe? A lifetime, if Greek philosophers were to be believed.

Bucky kind of felt like one of those philosophers right this second: draped in a bedsheet toga with a case of the crazy eyes, ready to jump on a soapbox to rave about a topic he had spent the last several hours puzzling over.

Said topic being: Steve’s dick and why the fuck would he have left a picture of it on Bucky’s phone?

Not sure Greek philosophers used to ponder such topics; their fucking loss.

Bucky had hypotheses. He had _theories_ , okay? Because the picture looked accidental, but the fact was that _it was still on **his** phone_! That Steve seemed to have fiddled with the phone _after_ the taking of the offending photo!

So either:

  1. Steve had picked up the phone, seen the picture, known he was using Bucky’s phone… and left it there. Why?
  2. Steve had picked up the phone, seen the picture, thought he was using his own phone, and… okay maybe he really didn’t care about the contents of his gallery?
  3. Steve had picked up the phone and didn’t see the picture it had taken so… but that made no sense?



This wasn’t fucking helping, holy hell, holy fuck!

Bucky rolled himself into a bedsheet burrito and looked at the dick pic displayed on his phone, adequately propped up on a pillow.

God fucking damnit but he would ride that dick into the sunset if given half the chance. Or maybe he would lick it like a two-scoop ice cream cone? Would Steve be averse to some dick riding himself?

Bucky whined in distress. Okay, he could admit it: he really _liked_ liked his best friend, okay? Like… like-like. Which was hard enough in and of itself when he lived with said best friend, especially when said best friend thought boundaries were like rules: an interesting concept that didn’t apply to him. Steve had been with him through thick and thin — okay not the Hydra thick and thin, but that didn’t really count, the important thickness and thinness for which he had been present being the aftermath, if you asked Bucky.

Bucky knew, in his heart of hearts, deep down in the abyss of his soul, that what he _should_ do was erase the picture and ignore that the dick had ever been recorded in all its porny, subtextually political left-dangling glory. He should close his eyes and make like he had never seen that penis at the top of those powerful legs, never seen that little bit of tip saying hello, the thatch of dark blonde hair. You could even see part of the ballsack behind the shaft. That foreskin was like a free ticket to fap-town. He had zoomed sixty-thousand times like a porny remake of CSI just to make sure some darker pixels were just darker pixels, or were they the slit? And this here, was this a freckle?

He was fucking toast.

Okay, so he could not erase the memory from his brain.

He whined again and rolled himself up even tighter in his bedsheets.

[---**-**---]

After feeling sorry for himself for the longest of times, Bucky found his resolve.

He took the phone in hand and opened the texting app.

He attached the picture, cropping it to contain mostly dick.

He thought some more.

How does one come across as joking while still leaving an opening for… sunset-ward dick riding?

Frowning in concentration, he typed, “Peekaboo” next to the picture.

He hit send.

Then he threw his phone onto the bed. But its dark screen stared at him judgingly, so he took the phone, opened his bedside drawer, saw lube, closed the drawer, opened his closet door, put the phone on the highest shelf, and closed the door.

How freeing was it to not have his shame glare at him?

So freeing.

[---**-**---]

Steve was halfway through drawing a huge Strava dick across New York when he felt his phone vibrate in his pants pocket. The pond he was sprinting along looked like a nice enough setting for a little respite from his run, so he stopped right there and inhaled deeply, enjoying the sounds and smells of the park.

Much later, Steve would say that the serum really is more about super strength than super reflexes, and although everyone and their mother has called bullshit on that statement, he decided then and there that he’d stay true to that opinion till the day he died.

There was also the fact that, due to frisbee-related occupational hazards, his base reaction to being startled was to fling things away from himself with prejudice.

So when Steve thumbed open his phone and saw that it was a message from Bucky, he danced a little jig right there on the shore of the lake, and then he opened his messages. And when he saw a dick, staring him softly in the face in all of its uncut glory, Steve suffered an uncontrollable movement, a jerk of his hand that sent the phone flying to the ground, a flawless triple axel.

Steve tried to dive after it.

Too late.

The phone bounced once and splashed noisily into the lake.

The phone with a picture of Bucky’s dick on it.

“Nooooooo….” Steve whined mournfully as his phone burbled out the last dredges of its life into the clear waters of the pond.

[---**-**---]

Okay, so Bucky had sent him an… image. Of a dick.

Very few possibilities offered themselves to Steve. Bucky could have sent him a random picture of a cock. For a prank? Maybe. Perhaps he had sent the picture by mistake?

Or this had been Bucky’s dick. Sent on purpose. To be honest, Steve had been extremely shocked — maybe going as far as “shook” —, reeling from the mood whiplash that accompanied the transition from his natural “Yay, Buckeee!” childish joy to…

To…

C

O

C

K

Anyhow, after a certain length of time thinking the issue over, Steve thought himself reasonably sure that Bucky had sent him a dick, voluntarily, for purposes unknown.

Because Steve knew Bucky, and because they tended to shittalk each other and basically act like sepia-toned frat boys, Steve was leaning on the side of “joke”. What the purpose of the joke was, he didn’t know. Steve, in an effort to hide his long-standing crush on Bucky, had taken to overcompensating with overwhelming familiarity. So yeah, the lines were getting blurred and now they had reached…

The dick pic prank stage?

If his phone had still been in working order, he would have called Natasha. On second thought, nah, she would snort him out of this plane of existence. Maybe Sam. Although maybe not, because that was asking to be ribbed until the day he died. He’d be three thousand years old and Sam would have downloaded his consciousness into a robot just so that he could remind Steve of that one fucking time he’d had a mental crisis about his best friend’s beautiful penis.

No. He would have called… Clint? At least Clint wouldn’t judge him because Clint was a semi-functional disaster.

Clint was comfort, Clint was where home’s at.

Steve sighed in the middle of the camera aisle in the department store he had found refuge in. He did a little half turn, surveilling the premises to… ha! To find a clerk.

“Hello, I have a question?”

“Ah yes how can I… heeeeeelpppp…” The petite clerk squeaked the last word out in a strangled voice.

Steve ignored this in the face of his more pressing matter. “I need an easy-to-use camera, please. And could you explain to me how I print pictures?”

Half an hour later, Steve exited the store, his arms laden with many more purchases than he had thought he’d need.

Whatever.

He was going to show Bucky how dick jokes were made.

[---**-**---]

Bucky had stopped angsting for a whole three hours thanks to target practice. Now all of the targets were riddled with bullet holes in various flower patterns and he was calm, he felt great, he only thought about his phone hidden in his closet like… once every three seconds.

When he got back to his room, puzzled but relieved by the absence of Steve lurking around on their floor of Avengers tower, his eyes zeroed in on his pillow.

And the picture lying there.

Bucky made a beeline to his bed and grabbed the picture.

The very literal photograph of a dick, Steve’s dick.

So this was a freckle after all. That dumb asshole had a freckle on his penis.

Bucky turned the picture over; “Jokes on you,” it read.

“What the fuck?”

Why would Steve respond to his own penis text with an honest-to-god photograph — and a good one to boot! — of his own cock? What joke? Was this about the peekaboo thing? ‘Cause yeah, in the first picture, the foreskin had been hiding most of the glans, but here, the very erect cock that graced his eyes had definitely peekaboo’d Bucky right in the face.

He scrutinized the picture in search of meaning.

The lighting was perfect. Steve’s dick had some artistic shade to it, hard and nestled in pubic hair. It looked…

It looked fucking posed, is what it looked like.

“Steve, what is the fucking meaning of this?” he asked nobody in particular.

Now, Bucky knew his best friend. He knew that the star-spangled-man-with-a-plan thing was a total sham. Steve wasn’t a planner, he was a pantser. A master at flying by the seat of his pants. Steve was the kind of guy who walked into Nazi Germany armed with a wooden shield, bravado, and a red, white and blue thong used as a slingshot.

Okay, maybe not that, but Bucky wouldn’t put it past Steve _not_ to do that. Because Steve was stupid and…

Okay, getting sidetracked here.

So Bucky knew Steve and Steve rarely did shit by accident. Was it improvised? Yes. But was it on purpose? Always.

So all those pictures of dicks _**must**_ mean something. There must be some kind of hidden message, a significant point made by the… cocks.

And really, there were only so many times you could receive a dick pic before you got the hint.

He needed to take action.

[---**-**---]

Steve was chilling in the common room, slurping his protein shake at just the right decibel level to annoy Tony _just_ so while not bothering Natasha too much.

It was a delicate balance to strike.

_Sluuuuurrrrrrrrpppppp_

“Holy shit, Steve, can you _not_?” Tony groused angrily.

“Sorry,” Steve said, then he sucked some more protein shake through the straw with a disgustingly loud guzzling noise.

Tony looked ready to launch straight into a rant because Steve and Tony's relationship sometimes felt like that of two schoolboys who pretended to not like each other, but really, they did, so they needed to not show it, and since they, in their hearts of hearts, were five years old, it just resulted in lots of metaphorical ponytail pulling and verbal swirlies.

But Tony never managed to start his rant because Bucky appeared from the hallway like a ghost on a mission.

“Bucky?” Steve asked worriedly as they all turned to look at the motherfucking Winter Soldier murder-strutting across the common room. “Something wrong?”

Bucky stopped right inside Steve’s personal space and slapped something onto Steve’s chest.

“Buck?” Steve looked down, noticed that it was his photograph and blushed like a stoplight. “Uhhh… I can explain.”

Bucky nodded, like yes, yes, you can explain, of course you can, and then…

Bent down?

The picture fluttered to the ground as Bucky grabbed Steve around the waist before standing back up, heaving Steve over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

All the assembled Avengers stared at the display in pure confusion, unable to properly parse the scene happening under their noses.

“Bucky?” Everyone heard Steve’s voice, a bit muffled and baffled, from behind Bucky’s back. Bucky gave a jaunty salute to the Avengers and turned around to vacate the premises, his supersoldier potato sack thrown over his shoulder.

“Okay, wow, so this is something that’s happening…” was the last thing they heard Steve utter before the sound of the elevator announced that the oldest extant specimens of dumbass in the world were gone.

“The fuck was that about?” Tony looked down at the contents of his lemonade as if he suspected it had been spiked with mushrooms, and not the shiitake kind.

Sam bent down to retrieve the photograph and turned it over curiously, a half-smile on his face. His smile froze.

He let the picture drop to the ground again. “Nope.” And then stood up, walked to the elevator, and pushed the call button that would take him back to his floor. “Nope.”

“Sam?”

“Uh uh, nope.”

[---**-**---]

“Was this about the photograph?” Steve asked as he looked down at the ground, oscillating in rhythm with Bucky’s steps.

“What do you think, Steve, hmm?” Bucky’s voice rumbled.

The trek from the common room to wherever they were going was also helping Steve discover some very novel aspects of himself. How interesting that a supervillain could throw him against a wall and Steve would barely miss a beat, but now that Bucky was carrying him like a ragdoll, easy as you please, Steve’s brain was frozen like a broken keyboard with the _i_ key stuck.

 _iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii_ — “Uh. Bucky?”

“Yes, Steve?”

“Uhhh…” That was one damn fine ass… “Where are we going?”

He heard the click of a door handle being actioned. “We’ve reached our destination.”

Steve used his well-developed abs to twist a bit and try to look around. Had his mind not been basically “ _iiiiiii_ ass _iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii_ oh god _iiiiiiiiiiiiiii_ ” he might have known where they were just from the twists and turns in their path, but eidetic memory only worked when the brain was online. He looked around and saw— “Is this your room?”

Before he could get any answer, though, he felt himself propelled off of Bucky’s shoulder and towards the bed and — oh okay, so hello, his little rod of righteous justice was now definitely attentive to the unfolding events.

Did Bucky yeet him? And also what was the past tense of yeeting? Yote?

“Yes, it is,” Bucky answered, and then he took off his shirt and all thoughts of verbal tenses flew out of Steve’s head.

He leaned back on his elbows, sprawled on the bed, and watched as Bucky divested himself purposefully of his clothes. There was nothing gracious in the way he stripped, but it offered the most beautiful of contrasts to the harmonious way all his muscles expanded and contracted, to the plates of his arm moving together mesmerizingly. Steve was entranced. And absolutely on board.

Also, Bucky was now naked, perfectly naked, nude, and Steve had to take some time to map out all the skin that offered itself to his gaze. From his powerful legs and the light dusting of body hair to his athletic torso with those abs and that Adonis belt making a perfect V pointing to his dick. Steve bit back a whimper when his eyes hit Bucky’s pecs and the smattering of chest hair, which didn’t hide the scars, only enhanced them. Steve licked his lips. Bucky’s nipples and their brown areolas were slowly perking up. He felt like a starved man at an all-you-can eat buffet.

“Oh my god,” Steve breathed shakily. He sat up a little and made an abortive movement to reach for Bucky, for any part of Bucky, really. But he was standing some paces away, and Steve left his hand hanging there between them.

Bucky tilted his head in return and stepped forward, approaching the bed cautiously, bravado abandoned for a second. He looked both ravenous and hesitant, as if the enormity of what they were about to do was only hitting him now.

Steve felt his fingertips brush against Bucky’s skin when he got close enough and Bucky hissed as if burnt, all hesitation immediately gone. Steve watched his own hand raptly, gliding over the iliac furrow, splaying over Bucky’s abs. Bucky’s half-hard cock was nearly level with Steve’s face; his gaze slid up slowly, devouring the body in front of him like it was the most mouth-watering feast he’d ever laid eyes upon, lingering for a while on each and every muscle he could see, his artistic eye catching on the minute details and shadows, on the scars spiderwebbing out from Bucky’s arm.

Truth be told, Steve felt a bit faint at the idea of being able to touch, to feel that big muscular chest under his palms.

Then their gazes finally crossed, sky blue and slate grey, and time really had no fucking meaning anymore. Steve felt lost in a whole new way. None of this bumbling through stupid picture pranks or whatever fumbling thing that exchange had been this morning. This was Bucky, here, his best friend since forever, this was naked, this was straightforward.

The fuck had happened for them to end up here? He didn’t really understand it, but this, this was so easy.

It was just him and Bucky.

So easy.

Steve felt his lips stretch into a smile and he brought his hand down to the hem of his shirt and pulled it off. As he got his head free of the tshirt and yote it — it’s the past tense of yeet, okay? — towards the corner of the bedroom, Bucky emitted an honest-to-god growl and pounced.

Steve let out an “oof” as he caught all hundred and fifty kilos and change of muscle and vibranium-laden horny supersoldier in his arms. They both slid a bit down the sheets, ending up tangled together.

Then Steve lost some time here, because Bucky kissed him like his life depended on it, like he was the sole body of water in a desert. Bucky kissed him with all he was worth, lips bruising, teeth biting, and tongue licking, he kissed Steve with force, dedication, and desperation.

Steve whined a bit in the back of his throat and grabbed Bucky by the neck, hoping he would feel less unmoored, because when in doubt, reaching for Bucky would always be Steve’s go-to plan.

Down in his pants, his cock was throwing a party. It felt like the Fourth of July in both his boxer shorts and in his head, complete with fireworks, noisemakers and free Cuba libres for everybody.

“Holy shit,” Bucky murmured against Steve’s lips as he knelt on the bed and pushed and pulled Steve’s body like so, putting him right where he wanted him, and why the fuck did this get Steve so hot? “Shit, Steve, god.”

Steve moaned and whined again, turned on beyond words because…

Because this was happening, holy shit.

[---**-**---]

So there was Bucky kneeling on his own bed with Steve laid up on it like the perfect blonde lovechild of Reckless Idiocy and Busty Pinup, waiting to get railed into next week. His blue eyes looked dazed. In fact, Steve, for all that he had been the one to repeatedly launch dick-themed attacks, seemed ridiculously out of it.

Bucky squinted, suspicious, before crawling up the bed to where Steve was lying. “Hey.”

Steve only breathed a bit quicker, said a breathy “Buck,” and reached for Bucky’s neck to kiss him again. Bucky snorted and dodged, kissing Steve on the nose, instead. Steve whined. “Why’d you stop?”

“Just makin’ sure we’re on the same page, sunshine.”

This time, Steve applied a lot more strength to bring Bucky down to him, which devolved into huffed breaths and bitten lips as Steve arched up to meet Bucky’s body and close the scant few centimeters left between some parts of their bodies.

Bucky stopped resisting and met the movement, his naked body rubbing over every part of Steve, except for those fucking sweatpants. He needed to get Steve out of those.

“Steve.”

“No.” Steve frowned and kept kissing Bucky.

Bucky snorted again and brought his hands up from the sheets to Steve’s hair, combing through the soft silky strands. Steve wriggled under him and gripped his ass with discernible hunger and Bucky retaliated by clenching his hands in Steve’s hair to stall the onslaught of kisses as he detached himself from Steve’s mouth. It did stop Steve from kissing him, but it also elicited the filthiest moan he’d ever heard.

“Steve?”

“Ugh... fucking... what, Bucky?” Steve squinted up at Bucky, his cheeks red hot and his eyes still a bit — a lot — dazed.

Bucky experimentally clenched his hands in Steve’s hair again, pulling a little.

Steve closed his eyes immediately and huffed out a cry. “Ha! Bucky… come on…”

Bucky smirked and buried his head in Steve’s neck, biting a kiss there and then licking his way up to Steve’s ear. “Okay, we’re gonna table that particular bit of intel for later, doll…” he murmured and then bit at Steve’s earlobe before sitting back up, straddling Steve’s hips.

“Nooooooo, Bucky why’d you go…” Steve tried to bring him back down, but since his hands still were desperately wanting to stay attached to Bucky’s ass cheeks and his brain didn’t seem to be able to choose between staying there or grabbing his shoulders to bring him back for more kissing, Steve just lay there on the bed like a whiney mess, grasping hands slip-sliding up and down Bucky’s back.

Bucky's only answer was another smirk before he crouched over Steve’s body and brought his lips to Steve’s left pectoral, biting and licking and worrying at the taut skin of Steve’s muscles. “‘Cause.” Another lick along the valley between his pecs. “I need.” He sucked on Steve’s right tit, groaning, feeling his dick jump, neglected and sensitive to all his movements. “To move this along.” When he bit the right pec again, Steve hissed, and Bucky kissed over the spot tenderly.

The distraction proved efficient in reducing Steve to wanton moans and making him relinquish his hold on Bucky’s butt as he reached up for the pillows strewn around his head and gripped them tight.

Okay, so tabling _that_ other tidbit of information, too.

Bucky slid down Steve’s body, delighting in licking each and every ridge of muscle in his path, until he reached Steve’s treasure trail. Looking up into Steve’s expectant and hungry face, Bucky smiled and nosed at the coarse, dirty blonde hairs, sliding his hands along Steve’s sides. Then he caught Steve’s pants and underwear and pulled them down roughly, finally revealing Steve in his nearly-full glory.

There was a bit of a scuffle, then, because Steve visibly wanted to get out of all his clothes, but Bucky was still sitting between the V of his legs. The scuffle ended with Steve and Bucky tangled in the sheets and Steve on top of Bucky, trying to kiss the life out of him while hungrily groping his pecs. Bucky went along with this for a time, until he brought his hands to Steve’s shoulders and pushed him off.

“Steve.” Bucky crawled up to Steve’s waist. “Steve, stop the kissing, I have to investigate.”

“Uh?” Steve pushed himself up on his elbows to look at what Bucky was doing. “Investigate what?”

“This.” Bucky poked at Steve’s shaft, right on that fucking freckle. Steve gasped and Bucky dragged his finger slowly up and down, caressing the soft skin, playing with it for a second or two. “Look at you.” Steve’s dick jumped at the scrutiny and Bucky looked up into his wide eyes before licking a long stripe from the root to the tip, swirling his tongue around the glans and sucking a bit on the head, then the foreskin. He closed his eyes, delighting in the simple fact that he was crouched here between Steve’s legs, listening to his more-than-a-best-friend’s gasps and soft huffs, tasting skin and precum.

Best feeling in the entire world, holy fucking shit.

“Bucky.”

Bucky just hummed, sucking on the head and down, delighting in his mouthful until he could feel pubic hair brushing his nose and the head of Steve’s dick pushing at the back of his throat.

“Buck, pl-ease!” Steve pleaded, to which Bucky answered with another hum and a slow suck up and back down again.

Fucking hell but that silky smooth skin was like catnip. He would gladly spend an hour like this, warming Steve’s cock in his mouth, saliva dripping down Steve’s balls, nose buried in that coarse hair that smelled like concentrated Stevie. He’d suck that dick forever, tongue like a soft mattress for Steve to rest his shaft on.

Bucky woke from his fantasy-slash-reverie when he felt hands grasp at his hair. Okay, maybe he was also into hair pulling. What a night for revelations.

“Holy fucking shit, Batman!” Steve cried.

Bucky chuckled and half choked on Steve’s dick while doing so.

“Bucky, you need to stop.”

 _God, noooo, whyyy…_ Bucky frowned and sucked up excruciatingly slowly, just so he could savour the blowjob. He even nibbled Steve’s foreskin with his lips before he finally glared at him. How dare Steve interrupt his alone time with that glorious penis-to-end-all-penises?

“Fuck, sweetheart don’t look at me like that,” Steve said, a small half-smile gracing his lips.

Bucky buried his nose in Steve’s groin. “I’ll look at you any damn way I want.” He looked at the jarring contrast between his metal hand and Steve’s peach skin and caressed Steve’s thigh gingerly. “Especially since you interrupted my fun.”

Steve was focused on Bucky’s hand climbing steadily towards the junction between thigh and balls, so much so that when Bucky began to give some kitten licks to Steve’s head, Steve startled and looked back down at Bucky, eyes wide and a bit glassy, red splotches on his cheeks.

Bucky snorted. “What’s up, Stevie, are you in subspace?”

Steve frowned for maybe half a millisecond before embracing the riveting sight of Bucky lapping at his dick like it was an ice cream sundae. “Hh-Wh. What?”

“I don’t know. You look mighty dazed.” Bucky swallowed Steve’s cock to the hilt again and stayed there for a second, feeling it bump the back of his throat.

Steve closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose, looking like he was trying to stave off an impending orgasm. “Oh. Oh! I-I don’t know, Buck?” he squeaked out, and after a second or two Bucky saw him visibly calm down. “Maybe it has to do with eighty-plus years of pining coming to a h- ah! Oh my god!”

Bucky huffed a laugh and got back to the blowjob, pointedly swallowing around Steve’s dick.

“Com-ming to a head! What d’you reckon’s happening to my synapses right now, dumb-hhh dumbass?”

In Bucky’s opinion, much too much was happening to those fucking synapses if Steve was still able to speak through this blowjob.

“Also!” _Oh god, was he never gonna shut up?_ “Also, subspace is _**so**_ not that, it’s-”

Bucky stopped sucking altogether and sat up, frowning at Steve’s sudden desire to climb onto a soapbox right now at this very moment. Steve inhaled, ready to deliver some fucking kink textbook definition of subspace or who knows what, but Bucky cut him short by growling menacingly and flipping him over, and then shoving him face down onto the bed.

“You never.” Bucky leaned over Steve’s body until his front was glued to Steve’s back, mouth near Steve’s ear, and shoved his right hand under Steve as he put up a weak playfight beneath Bucky’s weight with a startled gasp. “Never.” Bucky used his arm to pull Steve’s hips off the bed, took his cock in hand and began stroking him mercilessly. “Ever shut up.”

Steve gripped the bedsheets, moaning Bucky’s name as Bucky continued to jerk him off, his right cheek smushed into the mattress.

“Oh, sorry, Stevie? You had something to say?” He stroked Steve’s dick, running his thumb over the slit and gathering some precum that hadn't already been rubbed off onto the sheets during their short, playful struggle.

“Ah! Buck! I’m-”

“Yes?” Bucky buried his face in Steve’s neck and let his left hand rove over Steve’s side, feeling that huge chest expand and then contract. He got his knees a bit under him so that all his weight wouldn’t squish Steve into the bed, and also so that he could feel his rock-hard cock drag along Steve’s skin. “Come on, Steve? Nothin’ to say, sweetheart?” he mumbled into Steve’s neck.

Bucky bit that soft skin right there and then because Steve sounded close, and because his own dick was so sensitive and the feeling of Steve’s peach-soft backside against his cockhead was nearly more than he could bear.

“Bucky!” Steve cried, eyes scrunched up, and boy, was that a sight for sore eyes.

Bucky huffed, feeling Steve spill in his hand. “Okay, sweetheart, time for me to slide into home plate.” He heard Steve giggle, sounding a bit high and a lot satisfied.

And Bucky had no lube, but Bucky had a handful of spunk and a very pragmatic mind, so he set out to prepare Steve, who was now reduced to a moany mess. At one finger, Steve tried to rub himself on the sheets and Bucky simply followed, rutting up against his backside. At two fingers and a soft jab at Steve’s prostate, he licked at Steve’s neck and relished his cries for more, Bucky, more.

At three, he was ready to explode, what with all the friction and the huffs of choked breaths and Steve’s demands.

“Are you ready?” he whispered into Steve’s ear. He stroked Steve’s blushing cheek with his metal hand and kissed Steve softly, watching for any sign of reluctance, unwillingness...

“Yes… please…” There was only a sort of blissful expectancy.

Holding Steve by the waist, Bucky sat up and palmed himself, spending just a second looking at his handiwork, reverently thinking about the fact that finally, after eighty-odd years, he could stop hiding his feelings, his desires, his fantasies. Bucky caressed one of Steve’s cheeks with his metal hand, thinking that this was it: no immediate danger, no threat of a blue ticket or a police raid, no agonising over ruining his friendship. This was it.

Steve squirmed a little and looked back at Bucky. “Buck? Are…” He frowned. “Are you seriously gonna jerk off all the way over there? What the-”

Bucky rolled his eyes heavenward, because of course Steve would be a mouthy little bastard during the whole process. He proceeded to shut Steve up by way of getting into position, the head of his dick kissing Steve’s asshole delicately.

There was a second of blessed silence, where both of them held their breath, Steve waiting for Bucky to make his move and Bucky admiring the way his dick was pushing against Steve, and then pushing even more as he leaned forward, watching the head breach him.

Oh god, this was too fucking good.

Steve groaned all through Bucky sliding inside, into this hot clutch around his dick, and it was…

It was a religious experience, was what it was.

Bucky closed his eyes and moaned at the sensation of heat, of _tight, oh so tight,_ of Steve clenching a bit on reflex over his dick while sounding like he was being gutted. Eyes still closed, he stroked Steve’s ass, revelling in the peachy-soft feel.

He opened his eyes again and looked down at the marvelous sight splayed underneath him. Steve was panting, some sweat beading at his temples and his hands clenching and unclenching in the sheets. Bucky breathed through a wave of pleasure that suffused his body and softly brushed his fingers over Steve’s cheek.

“You okay, sunshine?”

“Please.” Steve opened his eyes and stared at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. “Move.”

It started slow. Bucky swore he wanted to take it slow and make it soft and the best Steve ever had, but at some point, Steve began calling for “harder” and Bucky obliged and then they collectively lost it. Steve was so fucking tight and so fucking eager, meeting Bucky’s thrusts with the filthiest hip moves ever known to man. Bucky used his metal hand on Steve’s shoulder as leverage to thrust. His ears were full of the slap of skin on skin synced up with Steve’s desperate moans and muffled screams.

Feeling himself so close to the brink and feeling like Steve needed just that _one little push_ toward his own orgasm, Bucky stopped thrusting and gripped Steve by the armpits, bringing a very befuddled supersoldier up to sit right in Bucky’s lap, on his cock.

Holy shit, he was buried so deep.

“Ah! Hah, Bu-Buck!” Steve brought his hands around behind him, grasping at Bucky’s body, his nails scratching over his skin, setting it afire. Bucky bit down on Steve’s trapezius as he rolled his hips to just… rub Steve all over from the inside. If he believed the fitful jerks of Steve’s body, the small involuntary spasms of his asshole, Bucky was hitting him right on the good spot.

He brought his hand up to Steve’s dick, its purplish-red head leaking semen all over his dark blonde pubic hair.

One more slow roll of his hips more and a jerk of his hand and Steve yelled his name, his cock spurting white come all over his thighs and the already rumpled and soiled sheets. Bucky clutched at Steve’s hips and thrust upward twice before blinding pleasure coursed down his spine and whited out his brain for several seconds.

For a short, blessed minute, the only noises in the room were their ragged breaths.

“Bucky?”

“Yes?” Steve’s tentative tone of voice made something shiver inside him. Was he gonna have regrets or something?

“Is… are you still hard?”

 _What?_ “...Yes?”

Steve hesitantly raised himself a bit before sitting back down on Bucky’s dick. They both whimpered, oversensitive and still panting through the remnants of their respective orgasms.

Bucky swallowed audibly and gritted his teeth against the pleasure zinging anew through his system. “Is this your way of asking for another round?”

“Do I need to start another passionate speech so that you’ll shut me up?”

Bucky growled and pressed Steve back down onto the mattress and that was that for the next few hours.

[---**-**---]

Approximately an eternity of fucking later, some switching, a snack break and a mad dash to the bathroom to retrieve more lube when Steve accidentally splortsched the first bottle all over himself in pure enthusiasm, and a change of sheets that ended up with them forgoing the bed entirely and fucking on the floor, Bucky and Steve finally lay down on the bed, satiated, exhausted and covered in a lot more fluids than was strictly necessary.

Blessed silence. Bucky had his eyes closed while Steve twirled a lock of his hair absentmindedly.

“So…”

Bucky kept a façade of calm while he cringed internally. He opened one single eye to look into Steve’s thinking face.

Nothing good ever came from Steve’s thinking face.

“I’m wondering… is all this why you did the dick prank in the first place?”

Bucky frowned. “The peekaboo thing?”

“What peekaboo thing?” Steve looked decidedly puzzled now.

“What do you mean, what peekaboo thing.” Bucky tried to sit up, but Steve flopped onto his chest, so he ended up just wheezing a bit.

“Well, I mean what, as in the interrogative pronoun and peekaboo as in-”

“No, Steve, wait.” Bucky looked down at the supersoldier ragdoll lying on his chest. “Steve… Wait a goddamn minute. You told me, ‘Jokes on you.’”

Steve turned his head and looked at Bucky with his best frowny face. “Well, yes, of course, you pranked me with a dick pic!”

“Steve, it was your dick pic.”

“What dick pic?”

“The one on my phone.”

“What phone.” Steve was now looking mutinous. “I don’t get it, Bucky. **You** sent **me** a photo of your cock!”

Bucky boggled for one wholeass second. “Steve, you...” Bucky snorted, then snaked out from under Steve, who began whining that no one cared, Bucky, to which Bucky huffily answered that Steve was the one who had started it, and as he reached for his pants and his phone, Steve was now full on ranting about who knew what, maybe the concept of “starting”.

Bucky shoved his phone under Steve’s self-righteous nose, open to the last message they had exchanged.

Steve went cross-eyed and grabbed the phone. “Wait, Bucky, that’s my dick.” Bucky hummed and then swiped to the gallery and showed him the picture. “And that’s…” Steve gasped and throw-fumbled the phone, sending it tumbling down onto the bed. “Holy shit, I sent you dick pics?”

Bucky smiled widely and then got back into bed, hugging Steve to his chest. Steve poked at his tits wonderingly. “So, I sent you a dick pic and then a posed dick photograph?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Oh, wow. Sorry.”

“Turned out fine, doll.”

Steve nuzzled Bucky’s chest hair. Then, “Wait, so are we boyfriends now?”

“I don’t know, Steve, I’m not a rocket scientist. What do you call your hundred-year-old friend and roommate who you exchange dick pics and swap spit with, Steve? Seems like a secret for the ages, no?”

Steve stopped nuzzling his chest, which was really too bad. Bucky opened his eyes to face a full-on glare. “You are such a bitch.” He laid his head back on Bucky’s chest. “I’m never sending you a dick pic again.” He poked Bucky’s pecs again. “I love you.”

Bucky hugged Steve close. “I love you too, sunshine.”

Steve smiled sunnily.

“And I’m so glad you’re a clumsy dumbass.”

Steve laughed.

Thank god for dick pics.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> And voilà, my first attempt back at writing smut after ouchie-long years without a single ding-dong writing.
> 
> Hope you liked it <3


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